Karl Knausgaard - My Struggle - Book Two

After an hour we got up and left. In the street she asked me if I wanted a cup of tea at her place.

‘Very much,’ I said.

Ascending the stairs, I suddenly remembered the incident with the Polish twins. It was a good story, but I couldn’t tell it. Too much of the complexity of my feelings for her would be revealed.

‘This is where I live,’ she said. ‘Grab a chair and I’ll make us some tea.’

It was a one-room flat: at the far end there was a bed, at the other a dining table. I removed my shoes but kept my jacket on and perched on the edge of the chair.

She was humming in the kitchen.

As she placed a cup of tea in front of me, she said, ‘I think I’m becoming fond of you, Karl Ove.’

‘Fond’? Was that all? And she said that to my face?

‘I like you a lot as well,’ I said.

‘Do you?’ she asked.

There was a pause.

‘Do you think we could become anything other than friends?’ she asked after a while.

‘I want us to be friends,’ I said.

She looked at me. Then she looked down, seemed to discover her cup and raised it to her lips.

I got up.

‘Have you got any female friends?’ she asked. ‘I mean ones who are only friends.’

I shook my head.

‘Or rather yes. When I went to gymnas I had some. But that’s a long time ago of course.’

She looked at me again.

‘I think I should go,’ I said. ‘Thanks for the tea.’

She got up and accompanied me to the door. I stepped into the corridor before turning, so that she would not be able to give me a hug.

‘Bye,’ I said.

‘Bye,’ she said.

The next morning I went to Lasse in the Park. Laid a pad on the table and started writing her a letter. I wrote down what she meant to me. I wrote what she had been for me when I saw her for the first time, and what she was now. I wrote about her lips sliding over her teeth when she got excited, I wrote about her eyes, when they sparkled and when they opened their darkness and seemed to absorb light. I wrote about the way she walked, the little, almost mannequin-like, waggle of her backside. I wrote about her tiny Japanese features. I wrote about her laughter, which could sometimes wash over everything, how I loved her then. I wrote about the words she used most often, how I loved the way she said ‘stars’ and the way she flung around the word ‘fantastic’. I wrote that all this was what I had seen, and that I didn’t know her at all, had no idea what ran through her mind and very little about how she saw the world and the people in it, but that what I could see was enough, I knew I loved her and always would.

‘Karl Ove?’ someone said. I looked up.

There she was.

I turned the pad over.

How was that possible?

‘Hi, Linda,’ I said. ‘Thanks for the tea yesterday.’

‘It was nice to see you. I’m here with a friend. Would you prefer to be on your own?’

‘Yes, if you don’t mind. I’m working, you see.’

‘Of course, I understand.’

We looked at each other. I nodded.

A woman of her age came out holding two cups. Linda turned to her, they went off to the other end and sat down.

I wrote that she had just sat down at the back.

If only I could bridge this distance, I wrote. I would give everything in the world for that. But I can’t. I love you, and perhaps you think you love me, but you don’t. I believe you like me, I’m fairly sure of that, but I’m not enough for you, and you know that deepest down. Perhaps you need someone now, and then along I came, and you thought, well he might do. But I don’t want to be someone who might do, that’s not good enough for me, it has to be all or nothing, you have to be ablaze, the way I am ablaze. To want the way I want. Do you understand? Oh, I know you do. I have seen how strong you can be, I have seen how weak you can be and I have seen you open up to the world. I love you, but that isn’t enough. Being friends is meaningless. I can’t even talk to you! What kind of friendship would that be? I hope you don’t take this amiss. I’m just trying to say it as it is. I love you. That is how it is. And somewhere I always will, regardless of what happens to us.

I signed my name, got up, glanced at them, only the girlfriend was in a position to see me, and she didn’t know who I was, so I escaped unnoticed, hastened home, tucked the letter into an envelope, changed into running gear and did my route round Söder.

Over the next days it was as though the speed I had within me increased. I ran, I swam, I did everything I could to keep my unease, which consisted of as much happiness as sorrow, at bay, but I failed, I was shaking with an agitation that never seemed to abate, I went on endless walks around the town, ran, swam, lay awake at night, couldn’t eat. I had said no, it was over, it would ease.

The reading was on a Saturday, and by the time it arrived I had decided not to go. I rang Geir to see if he wanted to meet me in town, he did, four o’clock at KB, we agreed, I ran to Eriksdal Baths, swam for more than an hour, to and fro in the outdoor pool, it was wonderful, the air was cold, the water warm, the sky grey with light rain, and not a soul around. Up and down I swam. When I got out I was hot with exhaustion. I changed, stood outside for a while smoking, then made a move towards the centre with my bag over my shoulder.

Geir wasn’t there when I arrived. I sat down at a window table and ordered a beer. A few minutes later he was in front of me and holding out his hand.

‘Anything new?’ he asked, sitting down.

‘Yes and no,’ I said, and told him what had happened over recent days.

‘You always have to be so dramatic,’ he said. ‘Can’t you calm down a bit? It doesn’t have to be all or nothing.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘In this particular case it’s exactly that.’

‘Have you sent the letter?’

‘No. Not yet.’

At that moment I received a text message. It was from Linda.

‘ Didn’t see you at the reading. Were you there? ’

I started to answer.

‘Can’t you do that afterwards?’ Geir said.

‘No,’ I said.

‘Couldn’t make it. Did it go well? ’

I sent the message and raised my glass to Geir.

‘ Skål ,’ I said.

‘ Skål ,’ he said.

Another message.

‘ Missed you. Where are you now? ’

Missed me?

My heart pounded in my chest. I started a new answer.

‘Pack it in,’ Geir said. ‘If you don’t, I’m off.’

‘I’ll be quick,’ I said. ‘Hang on.’

‘ I miss you too. I’m at KB .’

‘It’s Linda, isn’t it,’ Geir said.

‘It is,’ I answered.

‘You’re all over the place,’ he said. ‘Do you realise? I almost felt like turning round in the door when I saw you.’

New message.

‘ You come to me, Karl Ove. At Folkoperan. Waiting .’

I got up.

‘Sorry, Geir, but I’ve got to go.’

‘Now?’

‘Yes.’

‘Come on, man. Surely she can bloody well wait half an hour? I caught the Metro all the way here, and I didn’t do that to sit and have a drink on my own. I can do that at home.’

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I’ll call you.’

I ran into the street, flagged down a taxi, could have screamed with impatience at the lights, but then it pulled over by Folkoperan, I paid and went in.

She was sitting on the ground floor. As soon as I saw her I knew there was no hurry.

She smiled.

‘How quick you were!’ she said.

‘I had the impression it was urgent.’

‘No, no, no, not at all.’

I gave her a hug and sat down.

‘Do you want a drink?’ I asked.

‘What are you going to have?’